The pressure built like a live wire. My back arched, vision whiting out as I spilled over, painting our bodies in streaks of white. Ricard followed close behind, a choked curse escaping him as he buried himself deep inside.
We collapsed together, tangled up. I half expected him to pull away now, to retreat back into his royal bubble.
Instead, he curled up next to me, kissing my temple and whispering sweet nothings. “Mon trésor,” he murmured. “My treasure.”
Those words cracked something open inside me.
After a while, he slipped back out of bed, leaving me breathless and sated.
He returned with a warm, damp cloth, cleaning me with surprising tenderness. The intimacy of his gestures filled me with something I didn’t know how to name.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly, concern in his voice. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”
“I’m good,” I replied, my voice hoarse. “That was... great.”
Ricard smiled, and it lit up his whole face in a way that made him look younger, softer. “It was,” he agreed, fingers tracing soft patterns on my skin. “I've never experienced anything quite like that before.”
“Me neither,” I admitted. “And I literally work at a sex resort.”
He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Will you stay with me tonight?” he asked, his fingers still tracing patterns on my skin.
Pause. Companions didn't usually spend the night. But the hopeful note in his voice made the word ‘no’ evaporate from my mind. “Yeah sure, I’ll stay.”
“Good,” he murmured, pulling me close. “I sleep better with you here.”
A warmth spread inside me at that. This was more than just physical attraction. It was deeper. I didn’t want to admit it, but I could feel it.
I was falling for him. Fast and hard, despite every warning bell ringing in my head.
As Ricard drifted off, I lay awake, listening to the steady beat of his heart. I thought of Casey and the promises I made to him. How would I explain these feelings if he knew? Would he understand that while I came to The Ranch for him, I ended up finding something for myself too?
Before his accident, Casey was always telling me to live more, to take risks, to stop overthinking everything. “Life happens outside your comfort zone, little bro,” he'd say before doing something crazy like bungee jumping or asking out the hottest person in the bar.
Now our roles were completely flipped. I was the responsible one, the caretaker, the adult making all the hard choices. I'd come to The Ranch with such tunnel vision—get in, make money for Casey's care,get out. No distractions, no complications. Casey was depending on me to stay focused.
But what would he say if he could see me now?
In three days, Ricard would leave. He'd go back to Avaline, to palaces and protocol and royal duties. He'd probably attend fancy garden parties with suitable potential partners from good families. Would he think about me? Would I become just a wild Texas memory, a vacation fling to reminisce about when his real life got too suffocating?
And I would still be here, trying to earn enough to give Casey the care he deserved. Yet—to help my brother heal, I was putting myself in a position to get emotionally wrecked. Casey would hate that. He'd always said his job was to keep me from getting hurt, not the other way around.
But as I lay there, enveloped in Ricard's arms, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a way to rewrite the ending of this story. A way to make what felt so right last beyond these walls, beyond this week.
A way to turn a fantasy into something real.
Chapter 11
Ricard
The citrus-scented steam still clung to my skin as I watched Theo, with unguarded fascination, lift the jade face roller from my vanity as he investigated my collection of grooming products neatly arranged on the marble countertop. Steam still hung in the air from our shower, fogging the edges of the mirror as we stood side by side, towels knotted around our waists.
“Seriously? You need all of these?” Theo picked up my facial toner, examining it with exaggerated skepticism. “There's like fifteen bottles here, Your Grace.”
“Ricard,” I corrected gently. “And yes, each serves a purpose.”
“This one too?” He held up my imported French serum, squinting at the label. “What does this even do?”
I plucked it from his fingers. “It hydrates and firms the skin. Something you might appreciate in twenty years.”
